Our young jobbing forester, always on the hunt for work opportunities, finds himself rubbing shoulders with soldiers, sheltering from swooping choppers and graduating from shotguns to rifles back home.
IN the big, corporate world out there, companies have developed various methods of promoting themselves to enhance their opportunities. One hears the term ‘networking’ frequently, while staff are sent to attend conventions where they dine lavishly in fancy hotels in the hopes a chance discussion might reward the company with further orders in the future. Alas, no Hiltons or the like for me.
However, just recently I’ve discovered a networking strategy which targets my agricultural audience directly and effectively.
In a brief analysis of my current situation, it would be accurate to say that in the last 12 months approximately 60 per cent of my business has originated in the farming community. This has either been through firewood processing or tree and hedge planting, so it occurred to me that to increase business the solution would be to know more farmers.
Last season was my last as a full-time shearer and this summer has consisted of more of doing what I should be doing – running chainsaws, tree felling and firewood processing. It would be dishonest to declare that all my shearing work has stopped, as in order to keep my hand in, I’ve taken up the position of a part-time ‘clipper’, a role which has proved to be well worth the effort. However, the bulk of this work is outside my usual geographical area and I’m working with a chap twice my age that swears constantly but is married to a lovely Thai lady called Wan.
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This is not the type of shearing I’m used to. As a full-time shearer I was often in a gang, faced with sheds containing 2,000 animals, whereas this is much more bespoke – small farms with 300 sheep waiting patiently in an old, stone hemmel.
And because there are only two of us, the treatment we receive is much more personal as we are constantly supplied with a flow of tea, coffee and cakes. We seem much more appreciated and get a chance to actually sit down with the landowners rather than a tenant or some other employee and have an opportunity to discuss other aspects of land management like forestry. At lunch time, the most frequently asked question is, “So what else do you do when you’re not clipping?” This provides me with an opportunity to present my sales pitch and discuss all things timber.
As I found myself repeating the same dialogue, I wondered if a card or a brochure might be a good idea. However, I haven’t got round to it yet. So far this summer I’ve been paid for shearing just over 4,000 sheep and have obtained enough forestry orders to see me through the winter ahead as well as being subjected to some of the best home-made produce (pies, cakes and biscuits) I’ve tasted in years.
One of the best jobs I managed to pick this year came about completely by chance.
I was travelling down to Lancashire with my mobile firewood processor, which I was lending to a friend. As I was tinkering with shearing, I reasoned someone else may as well use it. At some point in the journey, the borders of the counties blur and you meet a sign which says ‘Cumbria’. At this point there’s a farm that sells raw milk, ice cream and fairly decent coffee and has become a regular place to stop.
Danny found himself working on an MOD site (Image: FJ/DG)
I parked the trailer with the processor in a fairly prominent spot and, as I wandered over to the farm, I noticed the farmer had had some forestry contractors working at the farm as there in front of me was a neatly stacked pile of oversized sycamore. With a belly full of cream, I headed back to the car only to find the farmer analysing the processor. After a brief chat we’re set to return in September. Who would have thought a glass of milk could be so productive?
Northumberland is home to the second-largest military training ground in the UK. Otterburn Ranges spans over 50,000 acres and any roads leading into it are clad with red flags when live firing is taking place. This week I have driven past many red flags as the ranges are not only shelled, bombed and rocketed but are also grazed by thousands of sheep which have to be shorn by someone. This has to happen whether live firing is happening or not.
More as a favour to a friend, I agreed to do the job and, having grown up as a keen game shooter, I’m no stranger to gunfire, so wasn’t too concerned about the location. However, on day one, as I entered an active simulated war zone, I was suddenly stopped by a group of Irish guards who seemed to morph from the bracken in their camouflaged kit. After a brief chat with someone whose face was indistinguishable, being covered in camouflage paint, I established my identity and was allowed through on a strict agricultural basis only. I turned to go and, glancing back, saw the guards had melted back into the bracken from whence they came.
As I drove carefully along the narrow road, shady figures emerged at intervals offering me the odd salute of recognition, which I nervously returned. It turns out my vehicle was causing some confusion as it was identical to the ones being used by those in charge of operations. The MOD used to own, operate and maintain all its own vehicles, but in a cost-cutting exercise it now leases vehicles, with white Toyota Hiluxes and black BMWs being the vehicles of choice. All diesel, I noted, as electric has yet to make it to the front line.
I eventually made it to my small tin-clad shearing shed, where I was pleased not to see shafts of sunlight shining through bullet holes in the walls, although the large water-filled crater just outside looked suspiciously like a missile strike.
The day was unlike any shearing day I’d ever experienced. Shearing Swaledales in a tin hut surrounded by the army and being ravaged by horseflies is one thing, but after a while the hum of the generator seemed to get louder and louder as the sound of the sheep became fainter. At this point, the tin panels on the shed began to vibrate uncontrollably and the noise became so intense I had to put my hands over my head to stop my ears from bursting. It wasn’t the generator or an earthquake but a fleet of Chinook helicopters – incoming!
I can now see why farmers on the ranges get cheap rents. The calamity of the Chinooks caused half the sheep in the shed to flee in panic and return to the hills from which they had taken two days to gather. One of the newly purchased rams was so panicked it flipped over and broke its back.
Neither the shepherd nor the farmer could understand why the Chinooks had to land just there in such a vast wilderness and added they had both received recent written warnings from the MOD for abusive language towards military personnel. I had some sympathy and it seemed as though it was a rather childish display of power. Army first and agriculture second.
As a rule I’m generally opposed to conflict, but a recent incident at home caused me to resort to violence and the use of firearms. As it happens, my wife is quite green-fingered, and provided with the seeds she’ll grow a range of crops which she then converts into very tasty dishes.
To help her in this quest I constructed some indestructible raised beds from larch planking, filled them with the correct soil formulas, bought the seeds and watched my wife’s pleasure as she planted and nurtured the resulting produce.
Everything in the garden was rosy until the pigeons discovered them, whereupon immediate retaliation was requested. I began with the shotgun and thinned out the hungry flock, only to find that those remaining had become wise to my presence and waited until the truck was up the drive before resuming their meal.
I’ve now taken a more distanced approach by using a .223 Remington rifle, similar to the ones used by the army on Otterburn Range but without the camouflage lipstick and face paint, and have pinned the birds back to about 400 metres.
Hopefully things will now have a chance to grow as well as reducing my food miles, although sustaining the cost of American ammunition might be a bigger problem.
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